


Lilac Festival

by allfinehere



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fic Exchange, Flowers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1566836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allfinehere/pseuds/allfinehere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for tumblr user <a href="www.nautilicious.tumblr.com">nautilicious</a> for Springlock Exchange 2014. The prompt was "Any pairing traveling to see some kind of festival. Could be for fun, case, honeymoon, by accident, etc. Bonus points if said flowers make it into romantic or sexual escapades."</p><p>The last part sort of happened but things got away from me haha. The Lilac Festival is a real thing that takes place on Mackinac Island, Michigan, USA every year. All the places I wrote about are real except the B&B Sherlock and John stay at, which I made up. The only vehicles on the island are emergency vehicles and snowmobiles, which some year-round residents own. Most traveling is done by horse or bike! It's one of my favorite places, which is why I jumped at the chance to put it in a fic. I hope you like it!</p><p>(Also this is only the second time I've attempted to write a sex scene, so forgive me if it's atrocious!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lilac Festival

“This isn’t an island. This barely qualifies as a rock,” Sherlock complained for what John figured was probably the twentieth time in two hours. 

“You’re the one who wanted to take this case, Sherlock,” John reminded him, patience wearing thin. “And I did not let you drag me here to listen to you complain about the inherent island-ness of this place.”

Sherlock glared. “I will not ask you again to refrain from inventing childish words. And it is an interesting case, but - they don’t even have _cars_ here. Am I meant to solve this case efficiently by _bicycle_?”

“Or horse,” John teased, enjoying the annoyed look on Sherlock’s features. Served him right. “Anyway, the island’s only eight or nine miles around. They can’t have gotten far. It’s not like there’s really anywhere to go.”

“Exactly,” Sherlock replied in a bored tone.

“If I’d have known you were going to complain so much, I wouldn’t have agreed to come. Usually with interesting cases you - _oh_ ,” John breathed in realization. “This _isn’t_ an interesting case. You’re doing someone a favor. This is that thing Mrs. Hudson wanted to talk to you about a few days ago!” he exclaimed triumphantly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Yes, you’ve finally caught on. Took you long enough. What sort of case of any worth would happen on a rock like this? During a festival to celebrate a _flower_ , no less. Not even a poisonous one. A _lilac_ ,” he said, voice dripping with derision. 

“Well,” John said, shrugging as he put his hands in his pockets, “at least they smell nice.”

Sherlock huffed and turned on his heel to stride away. 

“Bicycle rental’s the other way!” John called after him, unable to hide his grin.

***

They were staying in a bed and breakfast owned by James and Lila Connor, friends of Mrs. Hudson who had experienced several break-ins ever since the Lilac Festival had begun. Mrs. Hudson had begged Sherlock to help them, and not wanting to risk John’s wrath if he ever found out, he had agreed. John did not approve when Sherlock failed to help Mrs. Hudson after all she had done for them, and he did not like it when John was angry with him. It was much more difficult to get what he wanted. 

Their room was about what he had expected for a bed and breakfast run by an elderly couple on a tourist trap of an island. _Rock_ , he mentally corrected himself. Clashing floral prints were everywhere, decorating the mismatched antique furniture. At least the bed was a decent size, because for all John claimed that he woke up with Sherlock sprawled all over him, John wasn’t exactly a quiet sleeper himself. In retrospect, it was odd how quickly Sherlock had adjusted to having a sleeping partner. He expected John’s presence to make sleep more difficult, but found that he actually slept better and for longer with John by his side. Just one of the many unexpected results of having a romantic partner. Well, husband now. John appeared proud to bear the title, but labels had never really mattered to Sherlock. John was his, he was John’s, and that’s what counted.

John sprawled on the bed with a sigh. His body hadn’t adjusted to the time change and he was feeling fairly tired from the long flight. “How about you go catch the thief and I’ll take a nap?” he asked, cracking one eye to observe Sherlock.

“I didn’t bring you here to sleep, John,” Sherlock replied, still investigating the room. 

“You didn’t bring me here, I agreed to come,” John said, dragging himself into a sitting position. “So, what have you got so far?”

“Too many flowers,” Sherlock grumbled. 

“It’s a flower festival. Get used to it,” John replied. “Besides, flowers can be romantic. I mean, maybe not these in particular,” he amended, gesturing around the room. “Actually,” he added, brow furrowing, “I don’t know where I was going with that. Jet lag must be getting to me. Just pretend I never said it, yeah?” he asked with a somewhat confused grin.

“I believe I will,” Sherlock replied with a small smile.

“Any leads yet?”

“I’ve solved it, actually.”

“What!” John exclaimed. “But - we just got here,” he added bemusedly.

Sherlock sighed and handed him a card that had been sitting on the dresser.

John scanned it, eyes widening in surprise. “Oh god,” he giggled. “Mrs. Hudson is a genius. She tricked you into going on holiday with me!” 

“Stop giggling. It’s childish,” Sherlock snapped, folding himself into an overstuffed armchair.

“Oh, come on. We never did go on a honeymoon what with that hand-chopping lunatic running about,” John cajoled.

“But why _here_?” Sherlock moaned.  
“Well you’d’ve been suspicious if it was the south of France,” John reasoned. Sherlock merely huffed in reply. “It was very thoughtful of her. We’ll find things to do,” John assured him. “I read that there’s a giant rock in the middle of the island. You can climb all over it if you want. There’s an old fort up there, too. Maybe it’s haunted and you could solve a centuries-old mystery!”

A small smile crept over Sherlock’s features. John did try so hard to keep him occupied; perhaps it wouldn’t kill him to attempt to enjoy the holiday.

***

After a thorough exploration of the center of the island, in which Sherlock did climb on Sugar Loaf Rock and most certainly did _not_ fall off and bruise his knee, they returned to the bed and breakfast.

“See?” John said. “That wasn’t so terrible, was it?”

“I suppose not,” Sherlock replied, toeing off his shoes.

“You’re not still upset you couldn’t fit through the passage, are you?” John teased. There was a small, natural passage from one side of the rock to the other, but it was only big enough for a child to traverse.

“Of course I’m not,” Sherlock huffed. “Ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath as he hung up his coat. “Why don’t you go down to that tiny excuse for a grocery shop and get the least offensive bottle of wine,” he suggested.

John grinned. “Have big plans for the night, do you?”

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes as John left the room.

***

Sherlock did, in fact, have plans. They weren’t grand, romantic ones, but John would likely appreciate the gesture, however cliche it was. While John was gone, Sherlock appropriated some lilacs from the bunch in the vase on the bedside table and spread the petals over the bed once he turned down the covers. He had no illusions of John swooning into his arms (as that would never happen anyway), but he did think it would make John laugh and he loved it when John laughed for him. Sherlock sometimes got jealous when other people made John laugh - not the polite chuckle, but the actual laugh that came from deep in his chest, the one that made the skin around his eyes crinkle. He wanted that part of John all to himself.

Walking over to his small suitcase, Sherlock opened it and hesitated before sliding the zipper on a small interior pocket and pulling out a pair of black lace panties. He’d been cultivating a suspicion that John might like to see him in them. It was obvious he liked this sort of thing on women, so perhaps he would find it attractive on Sherlock as well. With a shrug, he shed his clothes and put them away neatly, then slid on the panties. He felt fairly exposed, but not ashamed or awkward. He was comfortable in his body and even if he didn’t see the attraction of the undergarment, hopefully John would. After all, hadn’t John decided this was their honeymoon?

Sherlock spent a few awkward moments trying to arrange himself sensually on the bed before abandoning the attempt and getting up to retrieve his phone. He walked around the room while he checked his emails, dismissing most of them as offensively dull. Finally he came to a possible case that might prove interesting and completely forgot about his mission to seduce John.

The door opened with a jangle of their key on its large wooden tag. “They actually had a pretty decent selection for such a tiny shop,” John said as he attempted to coax the lock into giving the key back. “I got - oh god. What the hell are you wearing?” John exclaimed as he nearly dropped the bag. With a yank he retrieved the key and slammed the door shut as if they were in great danger of someone walking by and seeing Sherlock. 

“What?” Sherlock asked calmly as he looked up from his phone. “Oh, these,” he said, having forgotten about his outfit (or lack thereof). “I thought you might like them,” he added with a small shrug.

John made a choked noise, and Sherlock looked up to see him struggling to get his jacket off. It was stuck on one wrist, but with a violent shake of his arm it landed on the floor. In a few determined strides John had crossed the tiny room and pressed Sherlock up against the wall, kissing him fiercely. Not expecting such a fervent reaction, Sherlock flailed for a moment before managing to set his phone down on the nearby dresser, then wrapped his arms around John.

“Good, then?” he murmured with a chuckle as John’s lips left his own in favor of his neck. He tilted his head back, whimpering quietly when John nipped at his sensitive skin.

“More than good. Fucking brilliant,” John growled, sliding his hand over the textured lace and smooth silk of the panties, feeling Sherlock’s cock taking a definite interest. His own trousers were becoming uncomfortable tight, but it could be ignored for the moment in favor of exploring Sherlock’s little ensemble. 

Sliding to his knees, John nuzzled the fabric stretched tightly over Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat, and John smiled before mouthing at the hardness through the thin fabric. “I’m going to make you come in these,” John said roughly, sliding his hands up Sherlock’s thighs as he sucked gently through the fabric. Sherlock moaned quietly and grasped John’s short hair in a steady grip, not pushing or pulling but simply holding on. He had expected a positive reaction to the undergarments, but nothing this intense. Sherlock’s breathing quickened as John stroked him and adjusted him so that his cock stayed inside the panties. Part of him longed for John’s lips and tongue against his bare skin, but the wet lace and silk were proving to be an interesting and arousing sensation as well. 

Opening his eyes, Sherlock watched John work. He was earnest and a bit sloppy in his eagerness, but that made it all the more sexy. The fact that John so plainly _wanted_ him was something Sherlock thought he might never get over. It was written all over John’s features and in his body language as he briefly pressed a hand against the bulge in his trousers to relieve the ache, attention still fully on Sherlock. 

Sherlock used the hand that wasn’t in John’s hair to steady himself against the wall as his legs were beginning to feel unsteady. “John,” he warned, voice tight. “I’m going to come.”

John simply looked up at Sherlock with dark blue eyes that were always so full of love for him, and Sherlock came. Curling forward, he panted as John worked him through his orgasm and then shuddered slightly when he became oversensitive. Once he’d recovered enough, Sherlock pulled John up into a hungry kiss, deftly undoing John’s trousers and pulling out his cock to stroke it eagerly. John was already on edge, and it wasn’t long before he was spilling into Sherlock’s hand. 

They panted into each other’s mouths as they attempted a few more kisses, then John rested his forehead on Sherlock’s shoulder. “God,” he said quietly. “That was amazing. _You_ are amazing,” he amended.

Sherlock chuckled and pressed a kiss to the side of John’s head, then stretched. He grimaced at the now uncomfortable sensation of the wet panties. “I need to go clean up a bit,” he said, and John reluctantly pulled away and turned to go lie on the bed.

And laughed.

“Sherlock, why the hell does it look like the Lilac Festival exploded on our bed?”

Sherlock gave him a half smile as he sauntered towards the bathroom. “Oh, I thought you might find it romantic.”

John laughed again as he pulled off his clothes, tossing them in a pile on the floor and collapsing on the bed. “You’re ridiculous,” he giggled. “Now hurry up and get cleaned, because I’m not done with you yet. Wouldn’t want to waste this romantic masterpiece,” he added with a wave of his hand.

“No indeed,” Sherlock grinned, and disappeared into the bathroom. Perhaps this trip hadn’t been such a waste of time after all.


End file.
